Defiled Lavender
by FeatheredSolace
Summary: MxS. The lavender iris slows the corrosion of her heart, and she confides within him all of her hopes and dreams that never will be. He protects her, but will he be able to save her from the decay that circulates within her? A flower entraps her sanity.
1. Prelude: Pouring

(A/N: Well, counting Misled, this'll be my second attempt at a real fanfiction. I want to get back into my writing kick, since I really hate to see it just wither away like that without a reason. So here, I give you, a more thought-out plot. Yes, it's Mir x San... Can't help it. Too obsessive.

Let me start off by saying that yes, this fic is slightly historical, but whether it's correct or not is up to me. In 1945, an atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, Japan. The effects of the radiation harmed those that managed to live, and any diseases contracted by them could easily be passed on by heredity. Sango was not born at the time, but her mother was pregnant with her. We'll say that the present time is 1962. I don't know what the state of Hiroshima was in the 60's, but in this fic, it will be justified as being in bad but improving shape.

The history of Sango's lavender iris will be explained. Bear with me.

I hope this fic becomes successful, because I'm really gonna work on it this time - not just let it roll over and vanish into the debts that is Enjoy your reading!)

**Summary:** After Sango has mistakingly killed a man, she searches for a place of shelter. Her fate entwines with a young man named Miroku, whom she confides in. Soon enough, Sango's behavior changes, and she contracts a deadly disease tracing back seventeen years. How will her new care-taker deal with a felon _and_ an infected?

-

_You didn't kill him._

**No, I didn't.**

_He was dead when you got here._

**Yes... That's right. Already dead.**

_No one will ever know he's missing._

**Right... He looked homeless anyway.**

_So then, you did kill him?_

**No, of course not!**

_You didn't?_

**Never...**

_Are you sure?_

**...I don't know anymore.  
**

- 

**_Defiled Lavender_**

Prelude; Pouring

-

The rain poured, and the city slept. But she was not the city.

Sango drew her knees up to her chest, remaining silent beneath her haven of roof shingles. She was cold; wearing soaked garments made it more difficult, and she stifled a shudder each time the wind tossed the rain about, making it tangle in her lochs. Her feet drew lazily on the damp pavement, and her distant stare traveled over to the body of a man, limp and bloodied. Sango's eyebrows furrowed, and in an attempt to avert her thinking, she rose her hand towards the sky.

"Funny... It didn't used to be this way."

She scowled, which quickly turned into a bitter smile. Even after seventeen years, the country she called home was still in ruins. It had been that long since the atom bomb devoured Japan in a torrent of fire and radiation, but now that there wasn't much to see, Sango could indentify the acid-charred bricks and crumbledavenue from a mile. It would be quite some time before everything returned to the way it had been - time which she couldn't stand to wait for, and that she didn't have the patience to tolerate.

Her eyes wandered to the dead man mere feet away from her, his blood smearing the concrete and then being washed away by the mass of rain. Her heart ached, and she felt pain for this stranger. All she had meant was to ask for directions to the train station... Now the train had surely departed, and she would be stuck in Hiroshima, living off of the remains of dead animals and withered plants.

A loud siren suddenly echoed down the alley-way, and a pang of fear shot into Sango's entire being, causing her to erect her back as high as she could to keep herself subtle. The patrol car whirled by, and she rasped out a curse, trying to calm her heart. She didn't want to be found... All she needed right now was time to reflect, or time to ignore. A little break from working, and a nice opportunity to let her worries soar into an abyss that she didn't care for.

Besides, she would never want to be considered a _criminal._

Her hand traced up to her cheek, and for the first time since her accidental killing, Sango felt the tiniest hint of a cut near her left ear. Her mouth formed a pout, as she recalled the events from before. _'He struck at me first,'_ she murmered, _'the bastard got what he deserved.'_

A part of her wanted to believe that, but most of her couldn't be forced to.

Instantly, both of her palms pressed against her eyelids, and Sango sobbed loudly. Her body shook forward from the convulsions, and she could hear the clouds roar with her in desperation. She hoarsly forgave him, and his family, and anyone else that would be hurt because of her decision. She didn't want anyone to suffer for this but herself.

It was too late for that kind of hope.

With herhands still plastered to her face, she whispered soothing words to herself, into her palm. "I'm going to be alright... No one's going to hurt me, I just have to keep running..." All of the guilt drained from her figure, and after her bawling, she became genuinely exhausted. Sango's desires switched from wanting to remain lonely for a while, to wanting a blanket and a loving caress.

She wanted warmth. She already lost that.

"I didn't want this... _No one_ does."

Her body tilted to the side away from the corpse, and her head found the water-laden ground beneath her. Sango's eyes fluttered, focusing her vision on the mildewed wall in front of her. She took a slender hand, and fumbled it inside of her shirt, before withdrawing it and twirling the object she retreived with interest.

A lavender iris. _'And I thought I lost you...'_

Sango's body went flaccid, and she lay there in the street, drenched in a puddle of water. The iris was held to her chest, and her free wrist fell to the boulevard.

The city slept, and within she tried to dream, but she was defiled by lavender.

-

_Await in the garden, for me._

_Let the iris kiss your tears,_

_And be devoured by the poison of your heart._

-


	2. Chapter 1: Cradled

(A/N: Thanks for those of you who bothered reading the prologue! I appreciate your reviews, and since I'm up to the challenge, this Angela shall now answer them. 

**Amethyst Fluff:**:D Thank you! I tend to try out new styles every once in a while, but I'm currently in the not-so-poetic-but-not-quite-story mood. It makes my brain implode, in that oddly good kind of way.

**DRAKE220:** No offense taken. I think I see where you're coming from, but even while I'm not writing in first-person, I'm attempting at making the writing fit Sango's personality and mood as it would be. If she was explaining things to herself like her incident, then she probably wouldn't make it sound as simple as possible. But thank you for the other compliments!

**Igs:** Thank you! I actually have read that book, and I immediately fell in love with it even after reading very little of it. It was so tragically beautiful... Course, most of this story was all influenced on the fact that I just finished my Pearl Harbor report for English, and that made me think about the atom bomb, etc. But, hey, I had that book in mind while the plot bunnies were dancing.

**Sango0808:** I appreciate those comments a lot - and of course, who couldn't resist fluff? Granted, this story will be very little in fluff, but it will hold a lot of desperation at a chance for romance that will never be complete. Hope that's what you're looking for!

**BaByXbOoX143:** Thanks! I try to use a variety of words in my descriptions, so that it doesn't get too dull and expectant. :o

**xxxroxyxxx:** Will do. ;D

**Lily Thorne:** Ipray thatit turns out that way. Let's hope my writer's block doesn't kick in, or something. XD

**Hahna:** Hearts for teh yobo. Hush it, you know you love angst with all your lonesome heart.

Well, the two have to meet up sometime, and what better way than Miroku coming across Sango when she's unconscious? No, despite the many speculations, he shall _not_ be reduced to groping her... At least, not yet. Ohohoh.

RxR, my pets.)

- 

Chapter one; Cradled

-

A speck of twilight danced behind Sango's closed eyelids, and she squinted in her sleep. Morning was alive again.

Her arms stretched outwards, and she could hear the bustling city awaken with her. Now she would be open to the world, and become vulnerable. The street around her was dried again, and to an extent, warm from the sun's newly shed rays. From what she could tell, no one had disturbed the area around her in curiosity. It was only a minor consolation, however, when she thought of all the possibilities. No one would let the smell of rotting flesh pass right through them without a second thought, and she knew that. Someone was sure to have noticed the dry blood leading to this alley way, therefore coming across a dead body and a lonely girl beside it.

She had to get away.

Sango's fingers found the iris nestled between her neck and collarbone, and she stuffed it inside of her clothing, before heading to the back exit of the entrapment she was in. A foot embeded itself into a convenient hole through the fence, and she managed to thrust herself over the obstacle, but not without making it out with a couple splinters in her foot. She hissed quietly, but picked herself up and started running. The town and its inhabitants were a blur around her, and not even an ounce of her could make out the expressions that they eyed her with. She wasn't sure exactly how long she'd last, or how far her legs were willing to carry her at this point. Soon enough, her breathing became husky, and she reluctantly stopped near the outskirts of the town. There was a hint of loneliness inside of her, of longing; she needed someone to talk to, if not to confess, then to at least find solace in.

_'No one would help me unless I lied...'_

Lying. Sango could lie. It wouldn't impact her conscience as much as killing a man would.

Very little of her wanted to revert to this way of life. This killing, and these dirty secrets - she couldn't change herself for this. She didn't want to anymore.

She just wanted a friend. If nothing else right then, someone needed to wrap their arms around her shoulders and pull her close. Sango wanted to feel what it was like to rest against warm flesh, instead of the blisteringly frozen ground she was quite used to.

A best friend; Sango hadn't experienced one of those since grade school.

-

"You know what _you_ can do? You can shove that contract up your ass, 'cause I'm not paying."

Miroku Uzumaki walked calmly down the empty hallway, whistling unphased as his employer angrily shot him a glare from his office door. He bucked his head backwards, giving the older man a wink, and clicked his tongue. "Sorry 'bud, it's not my apartment. You can get the loan from the guy who actually owns the place." Before the aggravated sales clerk could even yell his name, the door to the revenue building was bolted shut, and the young man had drifted off into the afternoon.

"Mmmm, air. That office was stuffier than a box," Miroku rasped, taking in the sensation of a crisp breeze when it swung his bangs to the side. His stomach grumbled from the absence of food inside of him, and his natural intuition took over.

"Tea doesn't help my hunger one bit... Where would a nice resturant be?"

He was new in town, having just been reassigned to manage bank accounts in Hiroshima instead of his Tokyo business contract. He definitely wasn't happy with what he was seeing; Miroku had witnessed better farm houses after a brisk tornado. His stay here in this town would be short-lived, as agreeing to relocating permenantly was absolutely out of the question. Once he was gone, then he was gone forever. No more eating at the same dumpy cafe, no more sleeping on a worn matress... He wasn't used to these primal basics. Not luxurious enough for him, he thought.

His ankle shifted to the side, and on impulse, his briefcase flew upwards and hit something soft and mushy behind him.Miroku narrowed his gaze, but he didn't need to spot whatever was near him, because the strong smell was enough to alert him of whatever decided to try and catch him off guard.

Liquor. _'A lousy drunkard, again? People must be mistaking me for a govenor or something, just by my clothing...'_

The alcoholic from behind staggered backwards, clutching his forehead from the impact of the blow. Miroku's body turned slowly, and he sharply furrowed his eyebrows at the man in front of him. "You," he addressed, "what is it that you want? Food? Money? Or do you just get a kick out of mauling padestrians?"

The haggard voice from the booze-infested male made Miroku shiver in disgust. What kind of a dirty person would be reduced to living off of such a thing as whisky? "I know you have money... You smell like that colored water in the boutiques-I'll have you know I starve while you pretty yourself up!" The intoxicant flung himself at the younger man, drawing a pocket knife from his sleeve. Miroku lifted his arm upwards, and brought it down in a bone-cracking throttle as his assailant completely missed his target, sending him to the ground to try and rub his back.

"Look here, I'll have no more violence out of you. I tend to be a very collective man, and words can, indeed, get you further than frivilous jabs. You understand, sir?" Miroku grinned in an unusually optimistic way, and the drunkard couldn't make out whether it was sarcastic, or a genuine offer of peace.

He went for the latter. "Go to Hell," he bellowed, pulling his leg out from under him and sweeping it across the ground, in an attempt to catch Miroku off balance. The younger man sighed, and in a finale, shoved his foot in the drunk's face. The other man groaned, doubling over and crawling behind the trashcans to hide.

"I'm giving you another chance," Miroku spoke, "so use this wisely." He flicked a couple yen at the homeless male, whom scavanged the money while it was still descending. Before he could be thanked, Miroku was gone.

"What luck," he chuckled to himself, "I get mugged by a booze-hound on my third day. This is just perfect." Miroku made a dramatic gesture by wrapping his arms around himself, and pitched his voice higher. "I was expecting to be throttled by women, just the standard, _'Oooh, what a handsome gentleman that has come today! We'd love to serve you,'_ but no. The only ones that pay attention are the ones that want money."

He stopped his aimless voyage when another smell intruded his senses, only now, it wasn't liquor. He covered his nose with his hand, squinting his eyes to get a better view of what was behind the alley he was soon to pass.

He needed not to go any further when his foot landed in atrail of dried blood. He retracted, putting on his grim face.

"A dead body," he analyzed, "damn, what part of town is this whereyou canfind random dead people!"

Miroku couldn't stay in the same place for long, as the sound of feet approaching and cars passing alterted him. _'If I remain here, then the first thing they'll think is that I killed this guy..'_ He examined his own clothes, which were slightly dirty from his tussel with the drunkard moments ago. Before peering over to get the corpse's identity, Miroku sped off into the direction of the gates leading out of Hiroshima and into the wilderness.

"Last thing I need right now is more trouble from townsfolk."

-

The clouds were cast over the sky, and a rumble of thunder shook in Sango's ears, but no rain fell. She pictured the landscape being drenched all except for her figure, in which the path she walked was a barrier to the storm. She was fond of her imagination, and it made her feel more powerful than her body projected her as, at this moment.

It was still daylight, but her stride had slowed to a limp, and she imagined that she must look defenseless around now. Sango voluntarily collapsed to the grass, rubbing her hands over her arms to create enough friction to keep her warm. Much was going through her head - for starters, she had absolutely no idea where she was.

Second, her clothes were still bloody and soaking. If she didn't change soon, people would either know something went on, or she would catch a terrible illness; whichever came first.

And third; she was lonely. It might have proved to be less troublesome if she was in good condition, but Sango couldn't fight the reality for much longer. If she didn't find somewhere to stay, and someone to help her, she might be captured by the wrong people.

Being a fugitive would haunt her mind forever; she was well aware of that. _'I just want to sleep, and sleep, and sleep, and wake up to find that it's all over...'_

Sango's back arched, and she whimpered, falling forward before a river bank. Her eyes squinted, struggling to keep themselves open, and her elbows lurched forward sickeningly. Before she could submit to the urge for more rest, she latched her eyes closed, and screamed to the broken sky.

A whisper followed her feral cry.

"I don't want to endure this all alone..."

Her head rolled over to the side, and her muscles relaxed, as she found her way into sleep again. Sango's body remained unperturbed for the longest time, and even while the sun began to drift downwards from the horizon, no one discovered the body of an unconscious woman in the middle of a field.

Then, the stars shone, and a man with darkened hair found his way to the very same brook she slumbered near.

Miroku blinked many times, startled to find a girl out in the middle of nowhere. The sky still rumbled around them both, while he squated down to the ground and near her motionless form. "Ah... What would a young woman be doing out here all alone? And these clothes... She must have been wounded from a fight to get such stains..."

He took his hand, and brushed a clump of matted hair from Sango's face. With her facial features now unhindered, Miroku couldn't help but gulp at the sight. _'Such a pretty-'_

A loud crackle of thunder shook him out of his thoughts, and the young man looked around in panic to assure himself that the two were alone. Glancing back and forth between Sango and the way which he stumbled to this location, he debated whether he should leave her here or take her with him. "I can't abandon this girl when I've just found her, can I? Besides, she looks like she has nowhere else to go..."

Examining her from head to toe, Miroku concluded that, yes, having a woman to watch over for a little while would certainly be less boring than what he had come here for. Bracing himself, he scooped her up in his arms, and cradled her cold body to his chest. Before he set off back to Hiroshima, he took one more look at her face, and smiled warmly.

"She'd be the epitome of an angel, if she wasn't covered in blood."

His foot pivoted, and towards the town he went, with Sango interlaced between his limbs.

- 

_I'm trembling beneath a blanket of sky, _

Because warmth doesn't reach the impure.

It only freezes the skin and leaves them unbreathing.

-


	3. Chapter 2: Deviating

(A/N: Yum. Plot bunnies sure do the stomach well. 

I'm spacing out the updates, but trying not to space them out too much. I just got the urge to write the next chapter, and now, here it is! Sango and Miroku's meeting with each other is a crucial part of the story, because as we all know, no one starts out as friends. Judging by this chapter, I'm going against my own genre standards of this fic - much of this is way too humorous to be considered angsty, or anything on that level.

**Zanisha:** Thank you very, very much! I'm very happy that I've gained a loyal reader such as you, and hope you enjoy the next chapter just as thoroughly.

**Aamalie:** Here's your update! ;D Glad you like the mysterious hint - angst just isn't good without it.

**Morelen:** Here ya go!

**Lily Thorne:** Ah! Thanks, that's a very flattering comment. At first, I was hesitant that people would shun my writing style, but I'm happy it's become the exact opposite!

**BaByXbOoX143:** Yeah, I'm planning on having him question Sango about it in the near future. That Miroku just has this air about him, and you can tell he'd help her out, minus the fact that she's a woman. But anywho, glad you found some happiness in reading it!

**DRAKE220:** Thick skull, with the patience and will to match. XD;

**Kiaka:** Your wish is my command!

**Hotaru:** Thank you! I hope this appeases your hunger. :D

Without further ado, chapter two. Woo. That was, like, a series of three rhymes. Imma stop now.)

-

Chapter two; Deviating

-

The smell of miso enticed her senses, and she stirred in her sleep, mentally reaching for the delicious scent. It took her by surprise when she rolled and felt the crispness of blankets on her form, and she jolted upwards, nearly hitting her head on the wooden bar that stuck out from the wall beside her. Examining her surroundings, Sango twirled her head in ten different directions, trying to place _where_, exactly, she was. As her hand grabbed at the soft mattress underneath, she noticed, for the first time that morning, that she _wasn't_ dreaming anymore.

_'Am I home again? Everything feels so right, but...'_

At that moment, her head was cloudy, but she could process the slickness of sweat layered on her body. What intruiged her, though, was the fact that she could feel such details. Peeking under the covers she had found herself waking up in, Sango saw, visibly, the curves and shape of her body.

_'Somehow, I doubt I'd wind up home, **naked.**'_

Eyes widening and cheeks flushed, Sango scrambled to clothe herself with the sheets as much as possible, as the sliding door creaked open. "Good morning," a sunny voice intruded, "are you awake, ma'am? I've gotten some soup prepared, and-"

Miroku got no further, and stopped his sentence when a pillow was hurled at the door. "You," Sango's tone grew venemous, "are you the one that undressed me! Get out of my house! Get _out!_"

Inside of the room, Miroku tried frivolously to calm down the angered woman that he actually took in. "Please, miss, get a hold of yourself! This isn't your home, I'm afraid; I've lived here for a couple of days, but nonetheless, you do not live here! If you may allow me to explain myself, then I promise, everything will make sense..." Looking up in panic, he was glad to see that Sango's fury had subsided, as she was now in a fit of embarrassment for being stark nude. "I don't have much, but if you don't mind wearing a man's clothing, then I can get you something from my room-"

"I'm rather capable of dressing into my own clothes. Hand them over," she glowered, "and _then_ we'll talk."

Miroku had a mix of frustration and fear on his face, as he was a little bit afraid to make it obvious that he was getting tired of the lack of gratitude coming from this girl. "I regret to inform you that the clothes I found you in are currently in the wash. Shame; they were filthy and bloody, but when I removed them, I couldn't point out where any of your wounds could be on your body..." He sensed her face scrunch, in faint disapproval of being located with such blatant proof that she had gotten involved in murder, and he managed to get in a couple of questions before she realized the inevitable.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did your shirt get so bloody in the first place? I assumed you had injured yourself, but since that's not the case, where did it all come from?" Miroku eyed Sango's face, and his sight trailed down to the form beneath the blankets, expecting them to be bloodied too. She saw his line of vision, and turned her head to the side, murmering quietly for his ears only. "After I realized there was no one to tell, I gave up on it... You shouldn't put a bother on yourself by taking care of me." She watched his hand stir the cup of soup like a coax, and had the urge to lick her dry lips, but suppressed that easily enough.

"I'm sorry," he complied, "I know that it's not fair of me to ask such personal questions, but where are you from? Do you have a family that's worried about you, or are you alone? If that's it, then we'll work out something, but I don't want to keep your parents in a tiff about where you are right now." Miroku saw a flash of anger sprint across her eyes, and instantly regretted his question, but felt better when she sighed. "They don't care, I'm sure." _'And that's not a lie; those poor, dead fools...'_

He rubbed his neck in earnest, setting the bowl of food on the stool next to the bed. "Well, then I guess that's fine. You can get yourself cleaned up, and when the time comes, I'll walk you back to your home, and-"

_Then_ it came. "Wait a minute; you felt around my body for wounds!"

In the span of ten seconds, the room that the two were inside of broke out into chaos, and the spot where Miroku once sat looking concerned at Sango had been impaled with the large wooden beam that had been above her. She still laid upwards, glued to the mattress, but her riled expression was nearly visible from his outdoor stance. "W-wait! It was all for _your_ benefit, I swear! I just wanted to make sure you weren't harmed, and that's all!"

Sango made a disgusted sound from her chamber. "Like hell, you did! If I find out that you did _anything_ to me, then mark my words..." For some reason, her temper grew bleak when Miroku emerged from the corridor again, looking almost stern with her. Sango was unsure of what to do when he placed his arm out to her; take it, or bite it?

"Can't you be reasonable," he said, without a trace of quiver, "and trust me on this one? We're new aquaintances, I know, but miss! Would I molest a girl who was unconscious and in a state of possible chaos? I would never!" He posed an honorable bow; a gesture that she was quite flattered to receive, even in the given circumstances. "Is knowing your name going to be a plague?" Miroku flashed her a bright smile, and her head, once again, turned away to face the wall. "Sango..."

"Sango...?"

Her heart made a sickening lurch in her throat. What was she supposed to say, now? "I... Forgive me, I can't recall my family name." She felt ashamed, being put on the spot like that. Who was he to think he had special rights to her personal life? The nerve!

"You don't remember? That's a pity..." Miroku breathed in exasperation, suddenly placing a hand on her shoulder. For a fraction of time, Sango saw in his eyes every endearing quality that her father had possessed; care, sympathy, charity... She bowed her head down in silence, allowing him to get a few words in. "Regardless, here," he took the miso in his hands, "get some food in your body. I imagine it must have been a fair while since you've last eaten. If you need anything, I'll be in the other room, straightening up some business papers. Don't hesitate, alright?" The wink he shot her then made her regret her earlier choice of words. _'I shouldn't have snapped...'_ It was easy to think to herself, but Sango couldn't manage to say sorry to a stranger just yet.

Miroku left the room, and she rolled over to her side, surprised when she felt the small carress of petals touch her skin underneath the blankets.

Digging her hand under, she brought her palm up to her face, softening her eyes at the sight of her lavender iris, still in fair condition. _'He must have found it in my clothing, but he didn't throw it away... Why?'_ Things were beginning to attract her sense of wonderment, as she wasn't used to this form of treatment. _'I'm sure he had nothing to gain by finding me... I shouldn't even be here; Hiroshima isn't my damn home anymore.'_

Sango forced herself out of the bed, throwing on the vestments of what appeared to be the under-clothing of a business suit. Her foot tangled itself in a pair of boxers on the floor, and she made a comical noise. "He wants me to put _those_ on? This is ridiculous..." She wrinkled her nose and complied, afterwards feeling as though she were clad in parachute pants. Sango found her way to the mirror, and when she took a glimpse at herself, she did something she hadn't done in a very, _very_ long time.

Her hearty laugh filled the air as she examined herself, making macho poses in front of the vanity. If she wasn't so busy giggling at herself, she would have picked up the distinct sounds of footsteps nearing the end of the hall, and the shuffle of feet hastily as they tried to run away before laughter escaped them, too. Sango found that her laugh could be infectious... She didn't do it often enough, that much was clear; but when she did, people seemed to stop what they were doing and smile in spite of themselves. She couldn't call herself a happy girl, but looking at herself in a man's dress shirt gave her that jolt of happiness that she had been missing for a long period of time in her life.

She sighed with a mix of melancholia andjoy as she threw herself on the bed again, ruffling her own hair to give it that manlier tone. She continued to snicker under her breath, even if she couldn't catch sight of her appearance just then. The iris at her side gave off an air of cheeriness, too - quite contrasting of its pale color. Sango didn't know why, but being in such a familiar place made her feel alive again...

Craning her neck upwards, she made a swipe for the cup of soup on the desk near her, and slurped it loudly. After the first taste, she was drawn in; life had taught her that men were terrible at cooking, but this stuff tasted heavenly. She greedily sipped more and more from the tiny bowl, sinking to her knees and enjoying the fresh smell and the warm flow of broth down in her mouth. Luxuries like hot food and boiled meat had been lost from her diet since a while back, and she welcomed the almost foreign food with open arms.

"What am I doing here," she said between slurps, "in such a place?" Taking time to look around, Sango noted the peeling of wallpaper, and the grimy smell of mildew. "Everything about it reminds me of where I belong, but it's not right... Who is this guy?" Pictures of Miroku were scattered on the drawers and dressers around the room, all appearing to be company photos. She drew her legs up to her chest, and sprung from the mattress again, nearing a particular photograph that sparked her interest. Holding it in her hand, she eyed the focal point of it, which happened to be the man himself - the photograph resembled something out of a black and white movie that would have a bad-boy as the main hero. His pose included his left leg bent and pushed against a wall, while his other leg dangled off the side of the brick collumn he sat atop of. His body was facing the wall ahead, but his head was turned towards the camera, and his jacket was thrown over his shoulder dramatically. Sango was convinced that he and the caretaker currently with her were the same, but... Their expressions seemed much different. Her rescuer was a cheery young man with a bright personality; this man gave off a cold and unfeeling attitude to those who looked at him the wrong way. At the corner of the picture was a scribbled signature, but she could make out the figures easily enough. "Mi-ro-ku, eh?"

Her own head turned to the side and towards the mirror again, and seeing herself holding an image in one hand, soup in the other, and wearing men's clothing made her laugh even harder than before. She had forgotten how wonderful it felt...

Miroku's head perked up from his tea at hearing her laugh. He smiled to himself proudly, "She can be a lively one when she wants to, it seems." Oddly, he enjoyed hearing that sound come from the room - he was beginning to wonder if he saved a depressive maniac. Taking another drink of his beverage, he flipped open the newspaper, skimming through articles to try and find something of interest to him.

"Oh? That's quite the familiar face," he chimed, seeing an artist's depiction of the drunkard he had had a small quarrel with earlier. Apparently, as the article told, he was convicted of not only multiple pedestrian maulings, but also persistent attempts at thievary, some of which he succeeded at. "Poor guy; I had hoped that small amount of money would have lasted a little longer than that," he shook his head in shame, flipping to the next page to continue the article. From what Miroku read, it seemed that the drunkard had been in agruff statedue to the murder of his own brother from the night before. _'Now that's different... I recognize this man, too...'_ Miroku was self-conscious, eyeing another drawing, but this time of the corpse he had encountered the other day. So the two were related? Following the article closely, it had no report of how the man was killed. All it simply stated was, 'his body was found, mangled and bloodied, in the alley way near the noodle mart. No convictions have been made, as cause of death still remains a mystery.'

"Cops," he grumbled, "sometimes I believe they forget their duties."

His mood lightened when Sango stumbled out of the room, wiping her mouth in exhaust and nearly tripping over herself. He could understand why, though - while his garments weren't nearly long enough for her tofall over from, he was sure she wasn't used to wearing boxers. She rubbed her eyes with her free hand, and set the empty cup that once held a sumptuous miso onto the counter. "Thank you; I'm grateful for the food." She mustered a weak smile, which Miroku found a little strange, judging from the sounds of merriment that were errupting from behind the door moments ago.

"No trouble at all. Do you want anything else? Perhaps just a moment to talk with each other?" Sango could feel the sincerity of his smile from across the table that she now sat at, and blushed demurely at the suggestion. From the pocket of his business shirt that was adorned over the girl's figure, he spotted the iris he had confiscated late last night. "Is that flower precious to you, Sango?"

The small of her back tingled at his husky voice attached to her name, and she cupped her hand over the protruding petals. "It is... And I'm thankful that you didn't damage it." She seemed to focus her voice more on the flower itself than on Miroku; he began to wonder who she was speaking to. "I figured I should make sure it was in proper care, since I wouldn't want to take a chance. What would you have done if I had crumpled it up badly?" She whipped her head back, breathing in and rolling her eyes around the kitchen, before answering.

"I'd probably cry, and then kill you. Mostly cry, though." Sango said it with such casualty that he was genuinely afraid of what he just heard. "Really, now? Must be a very important heirloom, I presume. Why do you carry it?" Miroku saw her expression grow solemn, and he learned then that keeping his mouth shut would have been far wiser. "You... You ask a lot of questions," Sango made a gesture showing her uncomfort of the subject, and she tried to turn herself in the small wooden chair, but ended up bringing her legs up to the seat and clutching them shyly. "Miroku," she practically squeaked out the name, and the young man across from her leaned his head to the side.

"You know my name, do you? Goodness, I had no idea that I'd earned such an occupation... And that it reached such a lovely woman, too!" She could see right through the thick flattery, and chose not to laugh, though she did flash him a stale grin. He chuckled of his own accord, and even though she found his behavior childish, Sango eventually giggled under her breath. She was shocked with herself, mostly, for lightening up after such an incident - normally, she would break down if the given circumstances were present, but now...

_'All that's on my mind right now is to enjoy this small bit of happiness, even if it only lasts a little while longer...'_

Her eyes shot open all at once, as she caught sight of the horrid newspaper resting under his elbows. Miroku must have caught the look of terror on her face, because he became worried in an instant. "Sango? What happened; what's wrong?" He was close to making a move to comfort her if she were to jump out of her chair, but she shook her head furiously, getting the panic out of her mind. "I'm alright," she tried to reassure him, "I just thought of something that I forgot." If her tone wasn't quiet and shaky, he might have had an easier time believing her.

"It's about this article, isn't it?" Sango's blood began to pump, and she could already taste the bile in her throat. Making adrastic curl of her spine,she held her stomach tightly, downcasting her face. "Some scary stuff, isn't it? I didn't think murders happened daily in Hiroshima, but that's the case here..." He flicked at the newspaper with a melancholic entertainment, relieving the girl of her troubles for the time being. "I'm curious, though - how did you come about my name?"

She quirked her head to the side, then remembered the source of such information, and answered grimly, "From a photograph." Bashfully, Sango reached inside the business shirt, feeling embarrassed that she had the audacity to take it out of it's frame and put it in her clothing. Fumbling around until she grasped the thin paper, she retrieved it with care, and placed it on the table. "Ah," he said with interest, "you like this one, huh? What would you say if I told you that was a painting?"

Her awe-struck expression made him grin in response, and he continued on. "Well, you see, back in highschool - yes, it was _that_ long ago - I had a friend who was great with his imagination in artistry, but couldn't make realistic works for the life of him. So, I set him to a test to prove that he was a true artist, and made a bet with him; if he could paint me in a pose, realistically, andwithout me modeling it for him, then I'd pay for his scholarship to an art university." Sango made a pleading gesture for him to continue, and after a sip of tea, he agreed. "It took him three nights to do it, but he showed up at my apartment doorstep looking gleeful as ever, and flashed me the painting he'd come up with. It was incredibly realistic, as you can see, but the little rat let me off the hook on the scholarship bet. He told me that with his new-found talent, thanks to me, that he'd be able to sell his art for prices exceeding anything I could possibly pay him at the time."

Looking up from his cup, he was intruiged to find her looking at the picture even closer, trying to spot any obvious faults that could give away its reality. "Well, the colors _are_ surreal... But he did a good job. This couldn't have been that log ago; in this, you look as though it was painted just yesterday!" He let the compliment slip right to his pride, and basked in his youth. Sango saw his composure and smiled at nothing at all, though from the way she stared at the portrait in her hands, that smile could have been mistaken as endearment towards the person on the paper.

"You're," she was hesitant at first, but gave in naturally, "different from most people, you know that?They usually pay me no mind, much less say a word to me. Why are you treating me like this?" She felt better when it was out of her system, but all the while, that sad smile remained on her face.

Miroku was puzzled, and inquired of her, "Why wouldn't I? You're not one I would imagine to be ignored... Besides, you're not exactly ordinary, yourself." Winking to confirm that what he said was a _good_ thing, Sango bowed her head in respect. Being around someone who made her feel like she was part of a family again, or that she had a sibling, or a person who cared, or anything...

"It's good to meet a different person once in a while, isn't it?" He commented, and Sango's eyes became misty.

_'He's unique, and I'm so very happy for it...'_

- 

_People stray far away from hope; _

Being a seperate person becomes their new goal,

For they only want you to feel welcomed in death.


	4. Chapter 3: Sympathy

(Bah. I apologize for the long delay... I intended on maybe getting a chapter in before school let out, but that just sorta... Didn't happen? Erfkemfkremg never again. Though, I'm sort of contemplating a one-shot based on an eerily-creepy M/S dream that I have around the same night every year for three years so far. The dream's got no dialogue, but I wonder if it would be completely trashed if I wrote it out... Guh, we'll see. 

Oh, and to avoid the cliche - of _course_ I own Miroku and Sango. And Hiroshima, while we're at it. You just _wish_ you could be me. -satirical snerk-

**Iggy:** This was probably one of the most ill-setting chapters I've written so far, if not for the quick emotion changes then for something else. I don't know exactly how long it'll drag on, but probably not long enough to ever need a sequel... This should appease your taste for angst, though. :B

**Zanisha:** Aw, thank you. :D Hopefully the bewilderment of how much goes on in a few words this time won't leave you too disatisfied.

**Miroku'sNumber1Fan:** Don't worry, it'll start making sense soon enough. I tend to go over-board on descriptions sometimes, but apparently that's not a bad thing. ;D

**Lily Thorne:** Heee, this story's going to depict every feeling possible, I think. Or that's what I'm shooting for, anyway. ;o

**Drake220:** Thank you!

On with the DL, kay.)

- 

Chapter three; Sympathy  
  
-

Hot water on a frozen layer of skin _burned,_ and Sango learned this painfully. Miroku made a face between horrified and amused at hearing her yelp on the water's contact. After getting used to it, though, she was just short of devastated.

"Man," she spat to herself, reaching for a lufa, "when's the last time I had hot water?" Even resorting to using men's shampoo would suffice for her - luxuries like this died out a long time ago.

Miroku tapped on the bathroom door steadily. "Oi, remember not to stay in there too long, or I'll be without hot water for a while." She smiled to herself and nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her. Already things were going smoothly for Sango, having been found in the middle of nowhere and being treated with food and water. She only wished that it wouldn't end, lest she be forced to return to her ramshackle of a home. _'I should tell him I have no guardian, I know that, but... What would he say? What if he turned me into the authorities? There's no way I'm growing up in a homeless shelter, and besides, I'm old enough to take care of myself! To Hell with the legal age!'_ On impulse, she began scrubbing harder on her skin, mindful of the peeling and raw flesh.

_'Still, though,'_ averting her attention, _'maybe he's a more forgiving person. Would he trust my ability to take care of myself?'_ She let go of the fact that even _if_ he let her go, she didn't want to be alone in the first place. _'I like it here. I feel more welcomed with a perfect stranger than I did with the people who brought me into this world.'_ She asked herself then if she should be ashamed of what she'd just admitted, and by default, the scrubbing did not cease.

"Disappointed..." The word came to mind, and the clothdropped, making the slightest of splashes before heading to and stopping cloggingly at the drain. "Who deserves to be disappointed? Him, I, my dead family?"

"Oh, and one last thing," Miroku chimed and set Sango's thoughts in the back of her mind, "let me know when you're done. I forgot to restock that closet in there with towels."

Her fists balled before she ducked down and retrieved the fallen wash cloth, suddenly plumetting it into the shower curtain. "Why, you dirty little..."

---

In disarray, Sango trudged behind her temporary guardian figure with reluctance. Surely, the event hadn't rusted her will to stay around him, but she began to worry if she was setting herself up. A man is a man, she agreed to herself, and tending to a woman was more of a pleasure than a chore, but not necessarily accountable of a _good thing_ for the maiden herself.

"Ah, listen..." His hand found the back of his neck as he scratched it tentatively, "the morning incident was just a gag. I never intended you to actually walk out and demand a towel from me, and..."

Sango could admit to that much. In a way, it _was_ her fault. _'But there should have been towels in there in the first place!'_

Contrary of whatever she was yelling to herself in her mind, she brushed it off by flicking her wrist continuously at the man in front of her who, once again, couldn't see her gestures. "It's fine. You had to have seen something when you undressed me in the first place, so it's no harm done. Let's just not put me in that sort of position again." He smiled back at her casually, teasing her choice of words. "Again, eh? Well, I didn't expect you to welcome bathing in my home with open arms!"

Her foot covered his in a second and spiked downwards, earning a grunt of pain. "I think you knew what I meant. Say, where are we going?"

Miroku recovered quickly and gave a short laugh. "Just making a quick stop to the office on the way to dropping you off. It shouldn't take very long, so you won't have to wait around." Sango's heart lurched at the avoided action that was inevitable to come, but she tried to forget it for the time being. "Why do I need to come?"

"Well, you see," he began to add in unnecessary gestures with his hands to elaborate his answer, "I was supposed to research a little realty information last night, but since I found a defenseless wanderer, I didn't have any time to do the needed work. Mainly, you're my alibi incase he doesn't buy it." He closed his eyes and smiled at his own clever plan, while Sango already imagined a large, looming, and angry man throttling her rescuer into the nearest wall.

Subconsciously, she fingered the trimmed sleeve of her newly washed t-shirt, gazing at the faded pink spots on miscellaneous places. _'With limited cleaning supplies, he did a pretty good job...'_ She noted how much warmer it was from having been heat dried, even though it wasn't much clothing itself, and was grateful for that much. No one could expect that days ago her hands were painted red.

Eventually they reached the building, and Sango gave a courteous smile as Miroku opened the door for her. He followed suit, and they made their way to the third floor, where the coffee machine buzzed lazily and secretary after secretary flooded in and out of the designated room.

Her imagination was positively bewildered at the sight of the man Miroku worked for. Rather than a large, powerful-looking person, she found herself mere feet away from a man with tuffed hair on either side of his head, accompanied with the customary baldness in the middle, and a short stature. She rubbed her arms in an attempt to rid herself of the goosbumps that arose from the laughter bubbling up inside of her. _'Tell me he's not supposed to be afraid of this guy...'_

"Uzumaki!" An obnoxious voice bellowed, and Miroku, likewise, strode into the office, while Sango snuck in a seat in the corner as a lone spectator. "Dammit all, reports have been coming in all morning about apartments and condos and houses and who the hell knows what! Where have you been?" The commander in Chief, suitably noted as such, rose an eyebrow at the girl sitting in one of his bamboo chairs. "And who's the woman? You put your career in jeopardy for another meaningless girl?"

_'Another meaningless girl?'_ The words echoed through her ears for a brief moment, then subsided.

"Precisely why I was late, sir. You'll have to forgive my empty-handedness, for upon returning to my apartment, she was stranded, and..."

His excuse was cut short by the pounding of fists on a desk. "Don't give me that, Uzumaki! What the hell do you mean by 'empty-handedness'? This is hysterical!" In an instant, his hand swept over his desk, dropping all of the paperwork he had filed to the ground in a haste of anger. Sango saw then, perfectly clear, the gleaming nametag and the name encripted on it. _'Kuranosuke...'_

Instinctively, Miroku rose along with his hand in oath. "I had a perfectly liable reason! She was very harshly wounded, sir, or so it seemed from the distance - with all the bloodstains, it was a surprise that she wasn't mauled. I couldn't concentrate on my work with someone's life in my hands! If she'd never been found, the condition she was left in would have resulted in a sure _death_." The emphasis on the word made her pulse skip. He'd taken care of her, been more than just a source of shelter for her, and this man was supposed to be telling him otherwise? In defense, Sango stood too, keeping one hand to her chest. "Mister, Uzumaki-dono has done nothing but remain compassionate while caring for me! Surely you can give him an extension on whatever job he's been assigned to for such an important reason? He healed me, physically and emotionally."

The young realter was moved by her statement, but Kuranosuke wasn't convinced. "I'll call on you when I want a meal cooked for me, wench. Keep your mouth shut while I deal with an employee." In an instant, she forgot all reason to be kind and unflappable towards this man and lunged forward, only to be held back by Miroku. "Bastard! You stereotypical, egotistical _bastard_!" Her teeth were clenched and the chief made a snarlingly mocking noise towards her, lounging back in his chair with a dirty pride. "Figures you'd have enough sense to know that a dead woman wouldn't get your job back."

Sango struggled in his grip, but both of them relaxed their muscles and froze up at the same time. Miroku pondered at the choice of words, the deliberate spite and carelessness in them, and the teasing tone... "Then, surely this can't mean... Oh please, sir, no."

"That's right," his nostrils flared, "get your pink slip and get out of my face. You can thank the broad in your arms." Her face dropped in disappointment, and she craned her neck backwards to see Miroku's face, only to have his arms go slack and let her fall to the floor. The shock, the anger, and the hesitance in Miroku's eyes right then made her skin prick in desperation. _'Oh, no...'_

He flatly smiled to himself, bowing and closing his own eyes, before pivoting and heading out the door with Sango followed closely behind him. She gave the deadliest glare she could muster to the stout man behind her and rounded the nearest corner before he could respond with one of his own. Once outside, each were cordially aware of the deafening silence that sprang between them, but neither tried to break it. His eyes never left his feet, while hers' were busily streaming over his face, trying to find a trace of emotion from underneath his hovering bangs.

Finally, the girl at his side spoke. "I'm very sorry... He was a cruel man either way, and I think that it was best that you got out of that job while you still could--"

"Heh," Miroku's voice was low and bitter, "I'm stuck here in Hiroshima, now. Do you understand? I don't have the money to pay for a plane trip back to Tokyo; that deal was set, and I would have been sent home in a few days, but it's over now." She cringed at the hostility in his tone. That only meant that he couldn't afford to pay for a second person in his household, clearly, but Sango was too distraught to pay attention to her own needs. "An apartment can't work for just a while? I'm sure you'll find a new job very soon, and besides, you do have your vehicle..."

He stopped in his tracks, looking at her with a frustrated pain etched across his face. "That piece of junk? I can't afford to waste gas on it; why do you think I took the liberty of walking to the office this morning? It's in no shape to be traveling that kind of distance!" They faced eachother a while longer - her fear drained her complexion successfully, and Miroku mauled himself inside for being fierce towards a girl. He turned back forward and walked the remaining steps to his apartment with her in complete distilled quietness. It surprised him, however, that she refused to leave his side, as if she were dependent _him_ right now, even though it should have been the complete opposite in his eyes.

Moments of awkward and uncomfortable soundlessness ensued, with Sango rapidly twitching her leg from being in a nervous situation, and Miroku crossing his arms while he stared down at the floor. It was his voice, however, that began a new conversation.

"Forgive me," he said with soft aggression, "I've been tense since the beginning of the week, and I took it out on the wrong person." A firm apology that, ironically, began the argument of a lifetime.

She was thankful for the sound of his voice penetrating the ringing in her ears. "I'm sorry too, but just know that I was trying to help..." He gave her a short chuckle and replied, with shocking calmness, "I believe you've _helped_ enough, but I get the point."

A string pulled at her heart. He was purposely punishing her for his own unemployment?

"Your boss acted like a sexist, so I shot back! That couldn't have possibly made a difference in his choice of whether to fire you or not, and you very well know it!" Her voice was rising with each syllable, but Miroku was uneffected. "I'm a valued asset, and he wouldn't have let me go unless you interferred, which you did quite well, thanks." She grew increasingly annoyed with the expression plastered on his face - a mix of anger, acceptance, and misfortune, all with a tinge of _disrespect_. "Are you actually going to blame me for him being completely unreasonable? That's impossible! You're better off working somewhere else, and if you couldn't see how determined I was to make sure that you received justice, then you're a blind man, Miroku." By this time she was standing, though he wasn't impressed with her use of intimidation, and rose along with her.

"The point I'm trying to make is that I didn't need your objection. You were there as a background story, but I never expected you to speak up against him. It only made it look rehearsed, giving him reason to believe that I was a liar." She cut him short after that last sentence with, "Because you are! Saying how I was wounded, and that I needed tending to or else I would have died... I wasn't a victim of rape, damn you, and you used me as an excuse to be late! You played me as a part of your scheme, and you deserve everything that came to you today! That comment, that statement that your boss said about another woman - I bet you're a ladies man, aren't you? You're the kind of person who finds a new girl to grope every week and then breaks her heart! He automatically assumed that I was another one of your toys, because if we had met under different circumstances, I would be, wouldn't I!" Immediately, his hand clasped around her wrist and he gave her a quiet plea to stop the accusations, to stop surfacing everything he already knew into the open - _to let him live in denial_. "Why was I this generous? You looked like trouble from the start, and I took you in; _why_, Sango?" His voice was shaking with anger, and she was sure that at that moment, the caring and gentle facade had withered away entirely to let a brute come out.

All the sadness in her heart, and all the sorrow on her face made him draw back, only to meet a deadly siren. "I'm so stupid. How did I think I could get along well enough here? How did I..." Already Sango's voice was choked with a relentless sob, but she tried to push it back for at least a little while longer. "I'd expected myself to stay with you and live a new life, and now that I see who you are - what you're willing to _do_ - what's the use? I should return to the broken house I'd lived in for 17 years of my life, and go back to scrubbing floors and eating rotten vegetables and..." Miroku's eyes grew softer as she poured herself out in front of him.

"I could only hope that you would accept a perfect stranger into your home, and how foolish was I to assume that? Everything I've ever known is dead! I'm a sinner; a _murderer_, and somehow I still thought you could learn to like me for a person! You could treat me like more than a thing that was barely hanging on in a cold life, and show me how wonderful it was to live with happiness, but instead..." Everything on Sango was trembling, from her lips to her quivering knees.

From her bowed head rose a tear-stained little girl, radiating fury and melancholia. "I wanted to believe you were different, but in reality you were..." What was she to say? With all the hatred she felt in her heart right now, she still wanted to hold on, to think that she was just saying whatever came to mind first; but her head, her neck, her throat, her _body_ was so sore and the ringing in her ears was growing louder and louder.

"Sango, calm down, please!" Miroku soothed, taking hold of her arms again and being thrashed by her unrelenting will to be free of his grip. "Take your hands off of me!" She shrieked, clenching her eyes shut and focusing on every fiber of her being that allowed her to feel malice, to be cruel and unforgiving. "I should have known better! I should have known better than to put my trust in someone else's hands, and I--"

In a rattling moment, her hand flew to her mouth and she gave an agonizing cough, collapsing into him and coughing more and more, forcing out whatever poison her body was circulating. The morning light grew bleak and her form released its tension as she, for the second time in a few days, fell unconscious. Miroku stood there for moments, stunned, and examined his shirt and her hand both covered in a sickly, vile blood.

Somewhere on a mahogany wooden stool, a stray petal drifted away from the lavender iris as panic replaced madness.

- 

_Likewise is a heart to meddle; _

For in due time the venom intrudes,

And the lavender will cease to unfurl.

-


End file.
